


Amor Vincit Omnia

by silver_fish



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Multi, Oblivious, Pining, Valentine's Day, background Ginny/Luna - Freeform, harry is having a career crisis. good for him!, just a catch-all for literally all of them, ron being a great and obtuse wingman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29133783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_fish/pseuds/silver_fish
Summary: As if it weren’t bad enough that each of her best friends is intent on setting her up with the other, with two weeks left to go until Valentine’s Day, Hogwarts is suddenly overrun with a plague of utter lovesickness as an absurd tongue-tying jinx captivates the student body. Hermione might not mind so much, if they had just left thelibraryalone.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley
Comments: 23
Kudos: 62





	Amor Vincit Omnia

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/laphicets) / [tumblr](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com)
> 
> well, it’s february. you know what that means: it’s time for me to post my cheesiest, rom-com-iest fic of the year...when i ought to have been writing midterm essays instead. i've been working hard on my novel since november so it's ready to publish on time, but now i'm leaving it to sit for a month or so while i catch up on other important original works i'm overdue to post, commissions, and, of course, plain old fun fanfic, which i have to say i've missed a lot! 
> 
> if you're a subscriber and have been waiting for something that isn't oc fic, i'm warning you now that there are a bunch more of those i'm posting. sorry! (but if you like my take on harry, i do think you'd probably love my own mc, nerissa. they share a tonne of my favourite character tropes.) that's not to say i don't have more hp fic to post, because i do! i'm working on my multichaps again mostly, but my writing time come april will be devoted solely to the third book in asld, because it's huge. lol. i'm trying to post a minimum of one non-oc fic every month, though! that'll be either commissioned pieces or old prompt fills, a lot of which are hp. so tl;dr i'm crazy busy between school and writing everything that isn't fanfic, but i wanted to post something for valentines and i really hope you enjoy it! i'll be coming back with more fic someday, but i can't say when right now...the best place to look for that will be on twitter or tumblr, probably!
> 
> anyway, happy valentines day!! i hope you enjoy <3
> 
> p.s. "amor secretus" isn't a very GOOD tl, but i figured that's sort of the whole tradition with harry potter spells, so why not right?

The first time Hermione hears it, it’s barely even the first day of February.

Some students have been calling it the Stammering Jinx. Others something more complex, like the Tongue-Tying Fancy Jinx, and others, still, simply call it what it is—an idiotic prank. It is, in essence, exactly what it sounds like: when the target is hit with it, their verbal faculties become compromised around any person they have some romantic interest in. More so than would be typical, at least. Since the first time she heard it cast in the hall, she’s only seen its effects once. From there, she asked around a bit to see if anyone new the counterjinx, but apparently the original perpetrators of the spell haven’t come forward with that information just yet.

How lovely.

If she had the time or any good reason to, Hermione might have tried to figure it out on her own. But while she had certainly once _wanted_ to be Head Girl, she isn’t; this title has, funnily enough, gone to Luna Lovegood, who Hermione sincerely doubts has any _idea_ about the existence of this jinx. As a prefect, then, it only matters if a fellow Gryffindor gets caught with it, and, so far, this doesn’t seem to be the case.

It’s not really _hurting_ anyone, though. For her part, Hermione would much rather be doing her homework than trying to figure out who likes whom in her classes, but after the state of this school last year, she supposes she can understand why people are trying to find some fun in jinxing each other. Maybe she _ought_ to be bothered, but as long as they leave her alone, she is content to ignore it for the time being. It doesn’t seem to be such a big thing anyway. A silly joke leading up to Valentine’s Day. Almost certainly, it’ll be gone by the time the month is halfway gone.

She turns out to be very, very wrong about this.

By the end of that week, it is _everywhere_. Hermione takes to hiding in the library, not willing to risk getting caught in the crossfire in the halls, and spends the rest of her time hiding behind others in her determination not to be hit with it. Now, she thinks she _would_ like to know how to counter it, but she doesn’t think it’s worth getting close enough to see how its cast in order to study it effectively. She sees humiliated students stammering through interactions with attractive upper forms or close friends and knows—

That cannot be her. It _can’t_.

Well, the objects of _her_ affections are already quite aware of it. Sort of. But she knows it could never work, because they both completely misunderstand, and never mind how either of them will ever feel about _her_ , there’s no way they would be interested in _each other_.

Not that it matters, though. Since they broke up in August, Ron has been convinced that she’s secretly into Harry—a “fact” he is surprisingly rather comfortable with now, all things considered. He thinks that, with just a little push, she could make that first move.

“He’s single,” he’s always reminding her. “Reckon it’s because he’s waiting for you, you think?”

It might be believable, if not for the fact that Harry has been very adamant about getting her back together with _Ron_. Telling her constantly that he doesn’t mind, that just because he’s not seeing anybody doesn’t mean them dating bothers him, that he’s _fine_ with being a third wheel, as long as he’s theirs.

And no matter what she says, neither of them believe it when she says she isn’t interested. Which is fair enough, really, considering it’s not exactly the truth, but it _still_ drives her mad. Sometimes, she thinks maybe she just ought to tell them, but then she actually considers the idea and is just as quick to talk herself out of it. It would ruin everything. It would make things _weird_ , and right now they’re really rather good. She can’t say anything.

So, no matter what else happens, she can’t get hit with this damn jinx.

In theory, it will fade away on its own after Valentine’s Day. With a week left to go until then, Hermione figures the best she can do is keep herself hidden away in the library. Nobody, she reasons, comes in here uttering _spells_. Madam Pince probably knows far worse jinxes herself, after all. The library is _safe_.

The problem, however, is Harry.

They follow him _everywhere_. And Ron, ever the faithful best friend, seems far more aware of it than Harry himself is. He is quick to draw his wand on anyone who even _looks_ at Harry for too long, and normally Hermione might reprimand him for this, but circumstances being as they are, she figures this, too, is for the best.

It’s not as if Harry and Ron accompany her to the library themselves, but at some point they notice she is spending—somehow—even _more_ time there than usual, which they remark upon at breakfast on Tuesday:

“We’ve hardly been assigned anything this week,” Harry points out to her. “What’ve you even got to work on?”

“There’s always _something_ to work on,” she protests. “You two just don’t know that because all _you_ care to study is Quidditch positions.”

“Formations,” Ron corrects with a mouthful of egg. Even when she glares at him, he doesn’t quite finish chewing before he goes on to say, “‘Sides, Harry’s got a point, hasn’t he? You didn’t even come up to the Tower ‘til curfew last night.”

“I was busy.”

“You can do work in the common room, though.” Harry takes a thoughtful bite of his toast. _He_ at least waits until he has swallowed to add, “We don’t get anything done without you to nag us into it.”

Ron nods emphatically. “We’re basically useless on our own. Y’know, studying _Quidditch positions_.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re both adults. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“I dunno, Hermione… I haven’t even started the Potions essay yet. And Ron’s is rubbish.”

“Don’t copy it, then. Write your own.”

He groans. “You don’t _understand_.”

Just as she’s opening her mouth argue further, Ron is suddenly on his feet, bellowing, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

Harry and Hermione both turn to look behind them as the offending wand is flung out of a fifth year girl’s hand. She stares at Ron briefly, aghast, until she notices Harry looking at her. Immediately, her cheeks brighten and she turns away to fetch her wand, then find a place at her house’s table to safely blend into the crowd.

Though his eyes remain warily narrowed, Ron resumes his seat.

“Sodding Ravenclaws,” he mutters. “Dunno who they’re trying to fool, thinking they’re so _sneaky_.”

“What was she doing, though?”

He really does sound confused, Hermione thinks. Of all of them, it really seems like he ought to be the most aware of people pointing their wands at his back, but it must just be a matter of there being no particular ill intent towards him this year. He _must_ know that his fame comes equally from a place of adoration as malice, though sometimes she wonders. As if Ron’s accidental dosage of love potion two years ago wasn’t enough to teach him.

“Er, well…”

“He’s clearly just sharpening his Auror skills.” Hermione sniffs indignantly. “Don’t worry about it, Harry.”

This makes him laugh, while Ron scoffs, though she sees the shining blue thanks in his eyes (or hopes she does, anyway).

“I’m sure there are better targets that teenage girls,” Harry says. “If you want to practice, we could do that sometime. Can’t hurt to brush up on some things, yeah?”

“That’s a good idea,” Hermione puts in quickly. “I bet we can find an empty classroom somewhere this evening, even. No one would bother us.”

Ron surveys her, suspicious. “What, and you won’t be at the library?”

“It’s still studying, isn’t it?”

Before he can contest that, Harry is rising, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Should figure it out later, though, or we’ll be late.”

Ron sighs, gazing forlornly down at his unfinished breakfast. “Yeah, all right. Guess we should. Are you coming, Hermione?”

Graciously, the topic of _the library_ remains null for the remainder of the day. Until after dinner anyway, when Harry reminds them of their earlier conversation. He doesn’t seem too enthused by the idea of practicing defensive spells for hours himself, but he never really minds if it’s for Ron’s sake, she’s come to notice.

Unlike Ron, Harry doesn’t really _know_ what he wants to do after this extra year at Hogwarts they’ve been given. Hermione keeps offering him suggestions, but he rejects nearly all of them as listlessly as the last. There are a few, though, that she thinks he might have been _less_ quick to brush off, so she brings them up once in a while—mostly receiving answers like “Yeah, I guess” or “Sure, sounds cool,” but at least it isn’t a _no_.

Herself, she will probably go into politics. The war taught them all many things, but above all else, it showed her how poorly their government is run—and how horribly oppressed magical creatures and Muggleborns truly are. It is the right thing to do, and so she will do it.

But Harry and Ron aren’t really like that.

Ron, at least, is quite sold on the idea of becoming an Auror. If the war taught _him_ anything, it is that he _does_ have it in him to take down the bad guys, and it’s not just luck, or because Harry was there. Though he has aired his grievances with Harry for deciding that being an Auror doesn’t sound that great, actually, Hermione secretly thinks he is better off entering the training alone. He didn’t have to, but he chose to come back to Hogwarts with them this year anyway, before going off into Auror training all on his own. Maybe he doesn’t realize it yet, but he’ll do better there without Harry at his side to unintentionally make him doubt his abilities.

Not that Harry is overly confident in his _own_ abilities, wherein sort of lies the problem. He is, somehow, even _less_ motivated to do homework than he was when Voldemort was still alive. He gets only what he has to done, and to a subpar standard that Hermione _knows_ is far less than what he’s capable of. On one hand, she wants to see him work harder, but on the other…she doesn’t _really_ have the heart to reprimand him when this is the first year he’s been able to spend at Hogwarts without _some_ sort of threat looming over him.

But this evening, once Hermione scopes out an empty classroom and locks the three of them within it, she is immediately on his case about his apparently nonexistent Potions essay.

“Okay, okay,” he moans. “Will you at least help me?”

With a sigh of exasperation, she nods and sits down beside him. Ron stands in the middle of the room, looking over at them in consternation.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Huh?” Harry glances over, frowning. “Oh. I dunno. What do you _want_ to do?”

Hermione can practically _see_ the gears turning in Ron’s head. He has two options here: leave Harry and Hermione where they are, in hopes that maybe be the end of the night they’ll be confessing their undying love for one another, or get some real practice in with one of them.

Well, he doesn’t have to make the choice if she makes it for him, does he?

“I’ll duel with you,” she says.

“What?” Harry’s head snaps around as she’s rising, eyes wide and betrayed behind circular frames. “You just said you’d help me!”

“I can’t help until you start, can I?”

He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again, looking sullen. “Fine. Whatever.”

That, she supposes, is as good as she’ll get.

Ron doesn’t protest this arrangement outright, but after they have spent some time sparring in the small space that they have to do so, they take a break on the opposite side of the room while Hermione heals a cut he has sustained during their last go.

“You should go over there,” he whispers. “Doubt you even have to help him. Just, y’know…”

She says nothing until the spell has done it’s work and she has pulled her wand back. Finally, with one eyebrow raised, she asks, “No, I can’t say I _do_ know. Care to elaborate?”

“You do so,” he shoots back. “C’mon, Hermione, you gotta trust me on this. I know what I’m talking about.”

“And he’s told you he’s madly in love with me, has he?”

His hesitation is answer enough.

“If you want to prove it so badly,” she says, “maybe you ought to stop blocking him from getting hit with that awful jinx. Isn’t that sort of the whole point of it?”

As soon as he registers what she’s saying, though, she regrets saying it at all. She does _not_ like the shine in his eyes.

“That’s true,” he muses. “But none of us know how to end it… Wouldn’t want him to not be able to talk to you at all, or he’d never get his homework done.”

“What, you wouldn’t help him?”

He shrugs. “He always says he’d rather you help him. Can’t blame him. I mean, I’m not even usually done in time for that in the first place.”

Her lips twitch. She shoots a furtive glance in Harry’s direction; though his focus is on his parchment, the hand holding his quill isn’t moving at all. She can’t see the textbook over his arm, but she has a sneaking suspicion it is not even open.

“All right,” she finally says, looking back to Ron. “I’ll go help him, but only because he clearly needs it more than _you_ do right now. In the meantime…” She sets her sights on a nearby desk, waving her wand its way in order to transfigure it into a more humanoid target. “Use this to practice some of those hexes, maybe. I’ll be watching you.”

“I didn’t ask you to watch,” he grumbles, but he is standing and turning away from her to do as she said. With a sigh, she gets to her feet in order to do the same.

As she slips back into the seat beside Harry, he mutters, “This is stupid.”

The textbook between them is indeed closed. Carefully, she takes it and flips it open to the page she remembers being assigned to them for this particular essay, but still he does not look her way.

Finally, she asks, “What’s stupid?”

He drops the quill and leans back, scowling. “All of it, I dunno. I thought I’d like coming back here, but…”

“Well, it hasn’t exactly been easy for you.” _For anyone, really_ , she doesn’t add.

“What, school? It’s not like it’s _hard_.”

“You just don’t see the point,” she guesses. “Well…we’re closer to the end than the beginning now, aren’t we?”

“Not _that_ close.”

“But you can do it. I know you can.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I guess. I just…don’t know what comes next. Y’know, like…there wasn’t supposed to be a life after Hogwarts. Or Voldemort, I dunno—they kinda feel like the same thing, or—not the _same_ but…y’know.”

She doesn’t really know, but she thinks she gets what he means. The unique burden of a child of prophecy, she supposes, is that he really _is_ born with a purpose to fulfil.

And once he’s fulfilled it…

“I like this,” he says. “Being here with you and Ron. If I could just have the forever, then I reckon that’d be all right.”

Something in her chest softens. She pushes the textbook away and leans against him, until his hair is tickling her nose. Automatically, his arm winds around her, lets her get closer. His heartbeat is steady beneath her, as constant as he is.

“Even when we leave here,” she whispers, “we’ll all still be together.”

He says nothing. He does not move.

She adds, “And we don’t care where you wind up, or what you’re doing. We’ll be your friends regardless. We just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“After Hogwarts, too.”

“…Yeah.”

It’s hard for him, she knows, because Hogwarts is the only place he’s ever called _home_ , but even it is full of all sorts of different ghosts, traumas hidden around every stone corner. One of the careers she has suggested to him is that he could just stay here, become a professor, and she thinks he really is considering it, but a part of her hopes that he will at least choose to leave for a while first, to experience life _away_ from the markers of his childhood. He has already severed his ties with the Dursleys. If any part of Voldemort still lives in this castle, Hermione doesn’t think Harry should stay tied to that, either.

But, at the end of the day, it is his choice. She’s learned better than to push him about things like this, and while she is naturally far pushier than Ron, she has made an effort to keep her nose out of his business in the case of careers. As far as she knows, he doesn’t talk to Ron about it at all; he probably feels a bit guilty about the whole not-wanting-to-be-an-Auror-anymore thing.

At last, he heaves a sigh and pull away from her a bit. “Guess I should just do it then.”

She eyes his hand as he draws his hand back from her shoulder and lifts the quill again.

“You might want this,” she says, nudging his arm lightly to guide his attention to the textbook.

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”

“Did you read this?”

“Huh?” He blinks up at her, then quickly drops his gaze down to the book again. “Er, no. Not really. I tried, but I just didn’t remember anything. I was gonna try again, but it’s, er…kinda boring.”

She thinks to contest this, but figures arguing over potions ingredients probably isn’t a productive use of his time right now. Still, it takes all her effort to hold that back and say instead, “I could read it to you.”

He pauses, and she holds her breath, waiting—

A bang resounds from the other side of the room, where Ron has, amazingly, blasted the transfigured desk’s arm to smithereens.

“Sorry,” he calls back to them. “Don’t mind me.”

When Hermione looks to Harry, he meets her eyes with a grin.

 _Don’t mind me_ , he mouths, drawing a soft laugh from between her lips.

“I’m not minding him at all,” she whispers. “So? Want to try this?”

His gaze is a little clearer now. Brighter.

“All right,” he agrees. “I’m sure if anyone can make this enjoyable, it’s you.”

She ducks her head to hide the smile that curves across flushed cheeks and trains her attention on the textbook. As, on the other side of the room, Ron tries to fix his target, she begins reading, contently relaxed with her best friends for the first time all week.

~

“It’s _Amor Secretus_ ,” says Ginny. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione sees her make a motion with her hand to a watching Ron. “Dunno who invented it, but it’s brilliant.”

“Huh. Who taught you?”

“I saw Daphne Greengrass use it on Malfoy. Think she wanted him to confess to her, but nothing happened.”

Hermione turns to face them now, blinking. “What do you mean, ‘nothing happened’?”

Ginny just shrugs. “Well, if you don’t fancy anyone, what’s a spell like that really gonna do, right? Or he’s just good at hiding it. Or maybe he’s got a thing for someone he never talks to. _Maybe_ he confessed later in secret. They say that’s the way to counter it, yeah? Either you confess, or someone counters it. Otherwise, guess you’ll just be a blubbering fool forever. Can’t say it sounds like a great life.”

“What?” Ron scoffs. “And you’d just confess, would you?”

“Well, I don’t have to, do I?” She shoots him a cheeky grin. “ _Some_ of us can get off our lazy arses and admit when we’re in love, not that you have any experience with _that_.”

To Hermione’s surprise, he flushes.

“Yeah, well…that’s different.”

“Not really.” She stands now, stretching her arms above her head briefly before dropping them down and meeting her brother’s eyes again. “Anyway, thought maybe you’d like to use it. Y’know, see what happens. _I_ certainly don’t need it.”

“But what’s the counterjinx?” he presses. “If you know the incantation, you’ve gotta—”

“I don’t, sorry. Maybe you could try asking Daphne Greengrass, you think?” She steps around the chair then, and waves at them both. “See you guys. I told Luna I’d meet her in the library for a bit before dinner.”

With that, she turns and leaves the common room. Ron watches her go, then groans and sinks down in his seat sullenly.

“You’re not planning to use it on Harry, are you?”

He turns to her, incredulous. “What? What sorta best mate do you think I am, Hermione?”

“Well, I don’t know! You were talking about it just two days ago!”

“ _You_ brought it up,” he points out. “That’s not what I meant anyway. I just want to know how to counter it if he _does_ get hit by it.”

“What, so that when he doesn’t start acting weird around me you can say it doesn’t mean anything because you already undid the jinx?” She rolls her eyes. “I haven’t a clue why you’re so convinced I’m interested anyway. Or _him_ , for that matter.”

“I have eyes,” he retorts. “Where’s he at, anyway? I thought he’d come up with you.”

She shakes her head. “I was in the library. I thought he was with _you_.”

Just as Ron is opening his mouth to say more, however, the portrait swings open and there he is, schoolbag slung over his shoulder, dishevelled hair over harassed eyes, but his shoulders relax as he sees them. In no time at all, he is come over to flop down on the settee between them.

“Where’ve you been?” Ron demands.

“Oh, y’know. Kidnapped by Death Eaters, tortured brutally, just a regular Thursday.”

“That’s not funny, Harry,” Hermione scolds. “That really could happen.”

“It basically _did_.” He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. When Ron turns in alarm, however, he’s quick to add, “Just girls, that’s all. They’re absolutely mental this year, have you noticed?”

Hermione catches Ron’s gaze over Harry, but Harry isn’t paying their silent communication any mind:

“They cornered me,” he goes on. “Asked if I had plans for Saturday, didn’t believe it when I said _no_ —I’m not going to Hogsmeade, I swear, you two can if you want, but it’s not worth it. Anyway, it took ages to get away from them. Thought they’d follow me all the way back here, but I ran into Luna and I think she scared them off.” He stops, snorts. “Funny, don’tcha think? _Luna_ scaring people off.”

“What happened, then?” Ron hedges nervously.

“What? Oh.” He shrugs. “Nothing, really. Just annoying. We should head to dinner, though.”

“Did they use any spells on you?”

He pushes himself up to standing, then pauses. Laughs, looking down to Ron with a fond roll of the eyes. “Not any _real_ spells. They couldn’t’ve been more than third years, I dunno. Not much they could do, is there?”

“What d’you mean by that?” Ron narrows his eyes. “ _Real_ spells? Did they try to cast something on you or not?”

“Well, yeah. But it didn’t do anything, so what’s it matter? I asked Luna and she said it’s nothing to worry about.”

“What was the incantation, Harry?”

He twists around to face Hermione, frowning. “Er, can’t really remember. _Amor_ something.”

“ _Amor Secretus_?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Hermione peers around him to look at Ron, whose mouth is gaping open. As soon as Harry looks at him too, he snaps it shut again.

“Huh,” he says faintly. “Well, then. Guess that’s—yeah, reckon she’s right, mate. Nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah. So are we going to eat or what?”

Hermione bites back a smile. “Sure, let’s go. Coming, Ron?”

He stares at her for a long moment, then hurriedly nods. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go, then. Must work up an appetite wooing all those girls, eh?”

Harry laughs as he steps past him to lead the way out. “More like trying to get away from them. Dunno when they’re gonna realize I’m not the most exciting bloke round here.”

“Oh, come off it, you’re our ace Seeker. What else d’you even need?”

Hermione is content to let them chat all the way down to the Great Hall, caught, herself, somewhere between smug and oddly disappointed. Of course, it’s evidence that she was right and Ron was wrong—as is generally the case, and they both know it—but it’s also evidence that…well, Ron was _wrong_ , because Harry is speaking perfectly well to them both.

In Hermione’s ideal world, getting hit with the jinx would have made him at least lose his words with Ron. She could be okay with that, she thinks, the two of them being together, as long as she could stay their best friend. Maybe things like fantasizing about them together—kissing each other where she can see it, maybe—is a little creepy, but it’s a nice thought. Really, she just wants them to be happy; so long as she can be around to witness that, she’ll be happy too.

They don’t talk about it, in any case. Hermione gets the sense that Ron is feeling rather defeated (he eats a lot of dinner, and then returns to Gryffindor Tower and lies prone on the couch for the remainder of the evening), but Harry doesn’t call him out on it—Hermione doubts he even notices—and Hermione doesn’t see the point. Friday rises upon them without incident, except…

It quickly becomes common knowledge around Hogwarts that someone has cast the jinx on Harry. Rather than discouraging his assailants, however, they only become more fervent, _bolder_ , in their efforts. They seem to think that it just didn’t work, but if someone can just get the spell right, _then_ they’ll see some results.

For the first time since this whole thing began, Harry becomes quite cognizant of what’s going on.

“I don’t know why they’re doing this,” he complains at lunch. “It’s the same spell, isn’t it? I’m not hearing that wrong?”

Ron grimaces. “It’s the same spell, all right.”

“But it can’t be _real_.” He snatches a piece of bread up and drops it unceremoniously on his plate before adding, furiously, “And _I’m_ just trying to go my classes! What’re they so obsessed with me for? What’s that incantation supposed to mean, anyway. Hermione?”

“‘Secreted love,’” she supplies automatically.

“What’s _that_ mean?”

“Well, you know… I’d imagine it’s supposed to reveal if you fancy anyone.” She averts her gaze. “But you’re right. It’s probably not a real spell.”

“Er, yeah.” Ron coughs awkwardly. “Guess if they want to get you on a date so bad, they’re just hoping you’re secretly smitten for one of them.”

“I don’t feel that way about anyone,” Harry grumbles. “They’d know that if they just _listened_. ‘Sides, what chance do girls like that think they have, anyway? If I were going to take anyone on a date, it’d at least be with someone our age. What about you, though? You never told me if you were going to Hogsmeade tomorrow.”

His bright eyes are on Hermione, but she just shakes her head.

“I don’t have any plans,” she says. “I’ll be in the library.”

“What about Sunday, then?”

Right. Valentine’s Day.

“The library,” she repeats.

“Ron?”

He shrugs. “Don’t see any point going to Hogsmeade all by myself, do you? Wouldn’t mind sleeping in for once, myself.”

“For once!” Hermione scoffs. “You do that every day!”

“I do not!”

“You should do something,” Harry protests. “It’s our last year. You should, I dunno, just go on a date or something.”

Ron and Hermione are both measuring him with a similarly unimpressed look, but it’s Ron who says, “A date with _who_ , mate?”

“Er.” He looks between them, eyebrows furrowed, then offers, “…Each other?”

Ron bursts into laughter, while Hermione just rolls her eyes. It’s hardly the first time Harry’s made this sort of suggestion to her—to either of them, she suspects.

“Yeah, right.” Ron pushes his plate back and stretches his arms above his head. “Sure that spell isn’t doing anything to your head, at least?”

“Well, I…” He stops. Sighs. “It can just be as friends, can’t it?”

“What, without you?” Hermione asks.

“I have to, er…finish my homework. Don’t I?”

“I might buy that,” she says seriously, “if I really believed you could ever motivate yourself to do homework by _yourself_ on a _Saturday_.”

“I…I can _try_ , can’t I?”

“Yes, but…”

“If you’re so concerned about it, why don’t you just go to the library with Hermione?” Ron suggests. “Since she’s already said she’s not going to Hogsmeade.”

“That’s a good idea,” Hermione says. “I can check over your essays.”

He drops his elbows on the table, chin falling to his hands. “Fine,” he mutters. “Feels like you’re teaming up on me, though.”

“No way,” says Ron. “Just looking out for you. ‘Sides, bet those girls won’t follow you to the library, right?”

Hermione pauses, until a smile pulls up at her lips. “That’s true. The library is an excellent place to hide.”

“And that’s what you’ve been doing, is it?”

She shakes her head. “Just studying, I swear. Anyway, I haven’t been there hardly as much the past couple days, have I? But I was planning to spend the weekend there, if I can… You know, _really_ get ahead on things.”

Ron rolls his eyes, but doesn’t remark further. For his part, Harry has taken to stabbing his food with a sullen sort of aggression, as if he is really that put-out by the fact that Ron and Hermione won’t go on a Valentine’s date together.

They don’t talk about this either, though, to her relief. She spends her Friday evening in the library, while Harry insists he and Ron ought to be _anywhere_ else for the time being. If he’s going to spend Saturday there with her, then he wants his freedom. She’s more than happy to grant it to him, too; it gives her an opportunity to think about _Amor Secretus_ a bit more. Now that she knows the incantation and has seen it cast—first from Ginny, but then many more times today as people hit Harry with it again and again and again, much to Ron’s chagrin—she might be able to riddle out the counterjinx for herself. Not that she has anyone to _practice_ it on, but she can take some notes, at least, and then if such a time comes that she needs to use it, she has some things to try.

She does come up with a lot of potential answers, though she keeps the parchment with her notes safely tucked away in her Transfiguration text and hopes she’ll never have to _actually_ apply them. It’s taken a lot of theoretical research, which has, at the very least, been quite interesting. Inventing spells is hardly an easy feat; despite everything, there’s definitely a part of her that’s quite impressed by whoever created this one.

When she comes up near curfew, Ron and Harry have waited up for her. They’re having a very in-depth conversation with Ginny about—unsurprisingly—Quidditch. Hermione sits at Ron’s free side silently as he argues with Ginny about what Hermione gathers to be an injury sustained by a player for the Holyhead Harpies. She doesn’t really listen that closely, but she does find, sometimes, that she doesn’t mind this too terribly; there is great comfort in the familiar banter, and especially since the end of the war she has found herself increasingly grateful for _any_ time she’s able to spend with her loved ones.

As the minutes turn to hours, Ron eventually declares the conversation over:

“I’m going to bed,” he says, “and I pray to Merlin and all his stars and all that rubbish that I dream up someone with some half-decent opinions.”

“No need to dream what’s right here.” Ginny sniffs. “ _You_ just wouldn’t know common sense if it hit you straight on your stupid head. Right, Harry?”

Wisely, he says, “No comment.”

“Sod off, Ginny. ‘Course Harry agrees with me.”

“Sure, sure. He seems totally confident in you.” She rolls her eyes. “Well, good night, then. Tosser,” she adds, as if for good measure.

“That’s not fair!” Ron calls after her as she turns and heads for the girls’ dorms. “You can’t call me names!”

She makes a rude gesture behind her back, not even bothering to see his reaction before disappearing up the stairs.

“You know she’s not gonna change her mind,” Harry points out after a beat of brooding silence has passed. “Why start a row about it?”

“Nah, I don’t really mind.” Ron rolls his shoulders back and turns to shoot Harry a grin. “It’s how we show our love, isn’t it? I really am dead tired, though. Don’t wake me up in the morning,” he adds. “I don’t want anything to do with this library business.”

Hermione sniffs. “Your loss. We’ll have a wonderful time at the library, won’t we, Harry?”

“Er…no comment?”

“Y’know, I think I get what Ginny was saying about your confidence in me,” Ron grumbles. “Night, Hermione.”

“I’ll probably head up soon,” Harry says.

“Sure, all right.”

With that, he goes too. A quick sweep of the room shows that they are the only two still up at all.

“I tried getting him to ask you, y’know.”

Hermione turns, blinking, to see Harry leaned back against the couch. His posture suggests nonchalance, but he won’t meet her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Hogsmeade,” he clarifies. “Got all embarrassed about it, said he didn’t want to ask you ‘cause you didn’t feel that way about him anymore, but he never said he doesn’t feel that way about _you_.”

“But he’s right. I don’t feel that way about him anymore.”

He glances at her briefly, though it’s enough for her to see the gleam of green disbelief.

“Really,” she insists. “I’d like to spend the day with you tomorrow. I mean that.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“It doesn’t make it less true.” She hesitates, looking over her shoulder towards the stairs to the boys’ dormitories, then turns to face Harry again. “I’d be happy if Ron were there too, but it doesn’t make a difference to me. I think it’ll be good for you, either way. I know this whole…spell thing…well…”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“Doesn’t it?”

He finally locks gazes with her, now. “No. Why would it? I don’t really feel that way about anyone. I think, y’know…as long as _we_ —me and you and Ron, I mean—as long as we can stick together, that’s good enough for me.”

“You know Ron and I feel the same way, don’t you?”

He shakes his head. “No way. I see the way you look at him. If I had to spend all of sixth year watching it, how d’you think I could miss it _now_?”

She just stares at him.

“And,” he says, “the way he looks at you. I’m not an idiot, Hermione. I wouldn’t tell you not to worry about me if it weren’t true that I just want you both to be happy. After everything we’ve dealt with, you deserve it.”

Shifting slightly to get a better look at him, she ventures, “What about you?”

“Huh?” He laughs. “Well, I guess school stuff kinda sucks, but I’m happy. But I have been thinking, you know, about the things you’ve said… I talked to McGonagall about it actually, er—the other day, remember? When I was so late coming back here? Ron thought I was with you and you thought I was with him, but, well, that’s what I told you both so I could go talk to her about…well. You know.”

“Really?” She straightens up, lips loosening into a soft smile. “That’s wonderful, Harry! Did you decide anything?”

“Not entirely, but…” He looks away from her. She doesn’t think she is imagining the red on his cheeks. “It’s a little late to apply this year, turns out, but St Mungo’s has an apprenticeship program, right? I guess it’s kinda intense, but—not more so than Auror training, at least. McGonagall said that I could probably still try to get into it for next year, but I don’t really want to use my name like that. A year off might not be so bad anyway, so…”

She leans forward and grabs his hand, drawing his eyes back to hers.

“That sounds like a good plan, Harry. Really.”

His gaze melts with relief. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.” Giving it a small squeeze first, she drops his hand and pulls back again. “I mean, being a Healer is all well and good, but…you need time to heal from some things yourself, don’t you? Maybe if you take a year off after this, we can finally sort of Sirius’s estate and such, right?”

A beat, and then—

“We?”

“Or, _you_ , I mean.” She looks away, cheeks stinging. “But we’d help, if you wanted us to, of course.”

“Yeah.” His tone is soft, pensive, but she dares not confront his expression. “Thanks, Hermione. I think that would be good. But, er…in the meantime, I need to improve my grades. That’s the other reason I wouldn’t want to apply now. They’re not exactly…er, _up to standard_ right now.”

“Oh.” A puff of laughter rises up in her. “Well, why not just say so? Study with me every day, you’ll get through those Healer requirements with flying colours.”

“You make that sound a lot more enjoyable than I think it will be,” he mutters.

“It can be fun,” she promises. “That’s what we’ll start with tomorrow, right? It doesn’t take long to turn something into a habit.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I guess. Means we should get some sleep, then, huh?”

“Yes, probably.”

He stands, then seems to hesitate a moment before saying, “Thank you.”

She smiles up at him. “There’s nothing to thank me for, Harry. It’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”

His lips twitch up too. “That’s true. Good night, Hermione.”

“Good night.”

With nothing more to say, all she can do is watch him go and do her best to ignore the hollowness in her heart that wishes, more than anything, he could let her be something _more_ than a friend.

~

True to his word, Ron does not come to the library with them. He _does_ get up for breakfast, however, after which he informs them he’ll be retiring back to bed, hopefully for the rest of the day—“Or year,” he adds thoughtfully. “Haven’t decided yet. Don’t wake me up, either way.”—while Hermione drags Harry first back up to the Tower to get the rest of her books, then back down to the library.

It’s a Hogsmeade weekend, of course, so the castle is pleasantly empty today. Even more so is the library, which always makes for a lovely retreat but _especially_ when it is just Hermione and Madam Pince around. Well, Harry’s here today, but that doesn’t matter; maybe he’ll distract her a bit, but she is mostly glad to be rid of the crowd of jinx-wielding fiends that have been following him everywhere otherwise.

They work individually for a while. Every time Harry tries to talk to her, she’s quick to tell him to hush and get back to work, unless he has a question about the material. He rarely does, though; he is a very intelligent person, for all he tries not to let it show. She’s never understood that particular inclination of his; it’s different from Ron, who simply doesn’t care enough to apply himself to what he’s doing since he knows he doesn’t need to if he wants to make it to where he’s trying to go. In Harry’s case, it’s more as if he doesn’t want anyone to realize he _is_ capable of doing well. Better for him to be average, she supposes, than to have the world’s attention on him, but doing well in his classes is hardly going to do _that_ , is it?

Besides, the world doesn’t need any extra incentives. That much becomes abundantly clear when Hermione realizes her quiet, cozy library seems to be filling up far faster than it has any right to be.

“Um, Harry?”

His head jerks up and he faces her, blinking. “Yeah?”

“Is it just me, or…?” She gestures around them, where students are sitting nearby or walking between the shelves, whispering furiously amongst themselves.

He follows her motion with his eyes, until they finally land on her again. “What d’you mean?”

“There are a lot of people here.”

“Well, we’re not the only ones who need to study, are we?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it, stumped. “I…I suppose that’s true, yes. Never mind that. How’s the essay going?”

“Not very far very fast,” he mutters. “But fine, I guess.”

“That’s good. Keep working on it, then. Sorry for interrupting.”

He says nothing more, instead just working, with rather visible effort, to re-immerse himself in his task. She ought to be glad to see him so invested, but there is an anxious sensation crawling all over her skin as her attention is caught again and again by all the people around them.

Still, she endeavours to not pay them any mind. It is normally so easy to lose herself in a textbook or assignment, but, today, this does not seem to be the case at all. Sometimes, though, she does feel a little paranoid unnecessarily—a relic of their time spent on the run, she supposes—so she tries her best not to bring it up again.

Unfortunately, in short time the root of her anxieties makes itself seen:

“ _Amor Secretus!_ ”

Three things happen very fast: One, Hermione pushes Harry aside, until he is toppling off his chair to the floor, letting out a yelp of surprise as he falls. Two, she whirls around and locks eyes with the girl who casted the spell. Three, it hits her square in the chest, and then, for a long moment, there is only silence.

This is broken, however, by Madam Pince suddenly shrieking at them all to “ _Get out, all of you, get out of my library!_ ”

Hermione’s heart is beating fast as she hastens to collect her things. Beside her, Harry has risen, looking supremely confused, but he makes to help her without a word. Along with all the others, they are quick to vacate the library, though they stop at the wall just outside it in order to put their books away properly. She keeps her head bowed, cheeks and eyes stinging, as Harry finally asks, “What just happened?”

She tightens her grip on grip on his Transfiguration textbook.

“Hermione?”

The words behind her teeth slip out now in the form of an undignified squeak. Her head snaps up and she shoves the book at him, throat tight. Though he accepts it, holding it against his chest, he looks nothing short of baffled.

“Are you, er…okay? I know— But, er, you weren’t really the one getting in trouble there, you know.”

“I—I— Of— _I_ —”

But finally, defeated, all she can do is close her mouth and turn away from him, eyes prickling horribly.

“What?”

She just shakes her head and begins walking.

He jogs to catch up to her, until they are side-by-side. “Sorry,” he offers. “I didn’t realize—I guess those people were there because of me, weren’t they?”

She sets her jaw, determined not to even _try_ to talk, though she badly wishes she could just tell him it’s not _his_ fault that everyone wants to hit him with this spell so badly. Instead, all she can do is shake her head again and quicken her pace, so that he doesn’t get a chance to say anything more to her before they come to the Fat Lady.

Even this, however, yields no good results as she tries to speak the password: “ _Lor—_ uh, _l-lor—ee_ —”

“ _Dorlorem sine_ ,” Harry supplies, and the portrait swings open for them.

Shaken, she steps inside ahead of him, scanning the room until her eyes land on a familiar head of ginger hair. Just as she is about to approach him, however, she stops short, horrified, because this will not help any either.

Too late, she realizes half a beat later as Harry makes his way over to Ron and flops down across from him. He’s messing around with his chest set, but looks up and grins as Harry comes into his line of sight.

“Give up already?” he teases.

“Er, no.” Harry’s concerned gaze finds Hermione just as she lowers herself down miserably by Ron. It slides over to Ron again after a moment. “We got kicked out.”

“You— What?”

Hermione leans over to rifle through her bag, until with trembling hands she is able to procure some parchment, ink, and a quill. She gives Ron’s chessboard a little push—which earns her indignant cries from him _and_ the pieces—and then begins scribbling furiously on the parchment. Once her message has been written, she shoves it in Ron’s face.

He snatches it from her with an irritated glare, but his expression softens as soon as he reads what she has written. He makes a small noise of sympathy and rolls the parchment up, handing it back to her.

“‘Fraid there’s only one thing you can do.”

She looks up at him, eyes wide, and shakes her head. “N-no—I— _no_ —”

“It’s not _that_ bad,” he reasons. “It’s hardly gonna hurt worse than this, is it?”

She scowls, unfurling the parchment again to write, _Fuck you_.

He laughs, like he’s _enjoying_ this, while Harry just sits across from them, rendered uncharacteristically speechless.

“Fine,” Ron says. “Bet Ginny knows something, but she went to Hogsmeade with Luna. It’ll be hours before they get back.”

Hermione groans, burying her face in her hands and letting her hair hide them both from her peripherals.

“What does she know?” Harry finally asks. “What’s going on? This isn’t some sort of prank, is it?”

“No, ‘course not. It’s, her…”

Hermione straightens up, thinking fast, and then returns to her parchment again:

_It’s that spell she used. It’s supposed to make people tongue-twisted until they confess to the person they fancy. It only goes away if the counter is used or if you confess. Which I’m not doing!!!!_

He reads it over a couple times, frowning. Slowly, he raises his eyes to hers again and says, “That never happened to me.”

She grabs it back and hastens to write, _You don’t fancy anyone, that’s probably why_ , before Ron can get a word in.”

“Oh.” He nods, seeming to buy this explanation. “All right, sure. What would Ginny know?”

Hermione passes the parchment to Ron now, so he can see what she wrote. He must take pity on her, at least, because he turns to Harry and says, “Might know the counter, or at least know of who _does_. Guess we’ll have to talk to her about it, since Hermione can’t.”

She lets out a whistling breath of relief.

“But,” Ron goes on, “until then, guess we just get to enjoy her being quiet for once, yeah?”

She glowers at him, but even though she _has_ the words to speak, they get caught up behind her tongue and she falls short, deflating in all her gloom, as he laughs about it.

Harry offers her a smile, though. “It might go away on its own too, right? Writing works fine too. We can work on this ‘til she gets back, right?”

Hermione sighs, then nods. With that, he digs in his bag to find his textbook and essay. As she watches, he opens the book to a page near the middle and a piece of parchment falls out from between the pages. He reaches for it, eyebrows furrowed in consternation, and then—

“Er, I think this is your book, Hermione.”

Her chest seizes painfully as he waves the bit of paper around. “What is this stuff, anyway? Doesn’t look like Transfiguration to me.”

She leans forward and gingerly plucks it from his grasps. It’s the paper she’s been working on full of all the possible counterjinxes, which has her eyes stinging all over again. With a muted sniffle, she takes up the other parchment: _I’ve been trying to figure out the counter to this jinx, in case any of us got hit with it_.

“Oh. I see. Er, why… Didn’t you both tell me it was nothing to worry about?”

“Well, it’s not for you, is it?” Ron shrugs. “We knew it was a real spell, we just didn’t want to stress you out over it. It’s, er, being going around for weeks now. I’m surprised you _didn’t_ know.”

“Can’t say I’ve been paying much attention,” he admits. “Guess it doesn’t really matter. Do you have my textbook, Hermione?”

She nods, then moves to find it. After it has been passed to him, the conversation dies down while the boys each do their own thing. For her part, Hermione stares at all her research and potential counters, and does her best to will her tears back. Crying about it won’t solve anything. All she needs is the counterjinx, and if Ron knows for sure now that she has feelings for Harry, then…fine. That’s _fine_ , because they both know, too, that they’re unrequited. What can either of them really do about it?

The sooner this goes away, she thinks, the better. _Amor Secretus_ doesn’t need to reveal anything _else_ to anybody if she can just get the stupid thing to go away.

Resolute, she focusses on her parchment of solutions again. No matter what it takes, she’ll be over this by the end of the day.

~

Graciously, Ron and Harry stick together until Ginny returns that evening. She drops some candy on the table in front of Ron and says, “Don’t thank me, they were on sale. Figured you might want something, at least.”

He grins. “Thanks anyway. Guess you’re not so bad after all.”

“What is it?” Harry asks, leaning closer to see.

With both of them occupied, Hermione reaches for Ginny’s wrist and pulls her away from them. Ginny doesn’t fight against her up to Hermione’s dorm, but she doesn’t look overly impressed by the time Hermione closes the door and faces her, either.

“You could’ve at least dragged me to _my_ dorm,” she says at last. “Then I could’ve put this stuff away.”

“Never mind that,” Hermione says impatiently. “I need your help.”

“What, _you_? Isn’t this usually the other way around?”

“It’s the jinx.” She sinks down on her bed, gaze trained firmly on her feet. “Someone tried to hit Harry with it in the library, and I just reacted, but it hit me instead and she looked right at me, so…”

Ginny’s silent for a moment, digesting this, until finally she nods. “All right. What do you want me to do about it?”

“I need the counterjinx.”

“I already told you, I don’t know it.”

“But can’t you help me figure it out?” She raises her eyes up now, imploring. “Please, Ginny, _please_ , this is— _humiliating_! Oh, it’s awful, and he doesn’t even _know_ …”

“Who, Harry?” Ginny laughs. “Yeah, well, he’ll never figure it out. I wouldn’t worry about that. Trust me, I dated him. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. He’s about as thick as they come.”

Hermione tilts her head just enough to prevent Ginny from seeing the flush on her cheeks before managing to say, “Yeah, but it’s not...it’s not _just_ him.”

“Oh.” There’s a rustling sound as she sets her bags down, then cautiously approaches and sits down beside Hermione. “Er, well, I can’t pretend to get it, but there’s a quick fix to this, you know.”

“I can’t tell them that.”

“Why not?”

“Well, Harry’s already been hit with it, hasn’t he?” Hermione sighs, looking up at the ceiling in frustration. “Ron’s been trying to get us together all year, though.”

Ginny snickers. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. He’s pretty dense too, isn’t he? Maybe they’ve just worn off on each other. They’re kinda glued together, aren’t they?”

When Hermione doesn’t say anything, though, she sobers up again: “Look, I mean—I can ask around, but I don’t think it’s worth it, honestly. There’s a reason it’s not common knowledge, right? The whole point is to make you admit you’re in love. Even if they didn’t feel that way about you, then it’s not like it’ll make a difference. They’d be totally lost without you.”

“Well, they _don’t_ feel that way and I know it, _so_ …”

“You don’t know it, though.”

She faces Ginny, flabbergasted. “Are you kidding?”

“No, not at all. Have you ever asked them?”

“ _No_ , but—”

“Then, you don’t know.” She shrugs. “Sorry, Hermione, but, well…be logical about it, at least. Isn’t that what you’re good at?”

She scowls. “I’m being _perfectly_ logical, thank you very much!”

“I don’t think you are, though. I’ll ask around a bit, sure, but…I think you’d be better off just being honest. Maybe their response with surprise you.”

With that, she stands and grabs her bags, then leaves the room to head for her own. A gentle click of the door closing is all she leaves with Hermione, but it is nowhere near enough to drown out her awful _thoughts_.

What is she supposed to do about any of this? She could ask Ginny to try her potential counterjinxes out on her, but they might only serve to make things worse. Or they’ll just do nothing, and she’ll be even _more_ hopeless than she is now.

Eventually, she concludes that she has to return to them, at least in time for dinner. Neither of them comment on her brief absence, and they seem content to do the bulk of the talking over dinner, too, though she catches them both levelling her with rather concerned looks every so often. She can’t even manage to console them with a smile, but at least she can say she _tries_.

That night, she is the first to retire to bed, but this unfortunately also means she is up early the next day—Sunday, _Valentine’s Day_ , damn it all. She heads down to the common room to get some work done before breakfast, but is stopped up by Harry, who is already sitting in the place she was making for.

He seems just as surprised to see her as she is to see him. It must be just past five in the morning, but he is wide awake, prepared for the day.

Well, she can’t turn away from him now that he’s already seen her, so she just settles in beside him. At least it isn’t Ron, she thinks, since he, unlike Harry, actually knows how the jinx _works_.

After a long moment, he finally asks, “Why are you up?”

She shakes her head, then pauses. Shrugs instead. Thinking hard, she points at him, hoping the question in her eyes is enough to understand.

“Why am I up?”

She nods, relieved.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He sighs. “Nothing new, at least. Er, I know you can’t really… But I talked to Ron about this jinx. You were trying to figure out a counter, right? Do you, er, want to _try_ it?”

She blinks. Hesitates.

Hastily, he says, “I just think it’d be nice to be able to talk to you again, is all. I know you said you don’t want to confess, so—if I can help with this, then I’d be all right with that. But Ron says, y’know, it’d probably be easier if you just confessed to whoever it is.” He stops, a funny look coming over his face. “Who is it, anyway? I didn’t know you fancied anyone. If it’s not Ron…”

There is something in his tone, though, that makes her stomach clench uncomfortably. She finds a piece of parchment, though, in amongst her school things. If this keeps up, she’ll need to buy more far sooner than expected, but she shoves that thought out of her mind for now to write to him:

_We could try it, but I’m not very confident in any of them._

He nods. “Whatever you want, sure. And, er…”

Of course he won’t let her _not_ answer his other question. With a sigh, she tries, _It’s complicated_.

“We’ve got plenty of time to talk about it,” he points out.

_I can’t tell you. Sorry._

He sighs. “Fine, then. Let’s just try your counters, then.”

They do, though to no positive ends. It doesn’t seem to _worsen_ anything, at least, but by the time they’ve come to the bottom of her list, it is nearing time to go down for breakfast and she is still just as tongue-tied as she was an hour ago.

“It’s kind of brilliant, though,” Harry says after pocketing his want and handing her notes back to her. “Wonder who came up with it.”

She doesn’t get a chance to do more than shake her head, irritated, before Ron is coming up behind Harry. They both look up at him when he says, “Oh, good, you’re both here. Let’s get breakfast. I’m _starved_.”

It’s much like dinner last night, but somehow even _more_ miserable. The Great Hall has been decorated for the occasion, in pastel pinks, heart motifs _everywhere_. Other students come in holding hands, and she says many kissing others on the cheek—or elsewhere—while the professors remain unmoved at the front of the hall, content to let the affectionate displays go unpunished for today, at least.

She was never overly fond of it before, but Hermione decides now that she _hates_ Valentine’s Day. If she ever has to see the colour pink again, it will be too soon.

“Wonder if someone’ll come forward about the spell,” Ron muses between bites of breakfast. She can’t even reprimand him, which is the worst part of it all, really. “My money’s on a Slytherin. Sneaky arseholes.”

“Seems pretty advanced, though,” Harry says. “Maybe a Ravenclaw.”

“I’m sure Luna’d’ve told Ginny in that case, don’tcha think?”

He shrugs. “Maybe she doesn’t know.”

Ron considers this, then nods his concession and turns his attention back to his breakfast. Hermione doesn’t have much of an appetite herself, but she picks away at a plate of food until Ron and Harry are finished. They return to the common room, where they take up their regular spots, until Harry suddenly stands.

“I have to go,” he says.

“Huh? Go where?”

“I have, er, an appointment.”

“What?”

He clears his throat, not meeting Ron’s eyes. “With McGonagall. It’s nothing important, I just—have to run. See you!”

With that, he is gone, right along with Hermione’s excuse for not talking.

Ron faces her, incredulous. “Do you know what he’s on about?”

Slowly, she nods.

“Well? Tell me, then!”

She reaches for the parchment she has been using to communicate this morning, but he shoos her hand away from it.

“You don’t need that. Harry’s not here. So? What’s this appointment about?”

A miserable weight drags through her chest as she opens her mouth and closes it again, struck just as dumb as before.

“It’s not some sort of secret, is it?”

“N-no.”

“D’you think he wouldn’t want me to _know_?”

She shakes her head.

“Okay, so…?”

“L—look—I— This— Or, I c-can’t—”

But it is no use. The words just won’t come.

Mortified, she ducks her head, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Er, Hermione?”

Before she can even look up at him, she heard the portrait hole opening up, and both of them turn to see as Ginny walks in. When she sees them there, she brightens.

“Hey!” She approaches from behind, leaning her forearms against the back of the couch. “So. I asked around a bit. And you totally owe me, by the way. I had to talk to Daphne Greengrass about this stupid spell for nearly an hour before she finally told me anything _valuable_. Well, anyway, long story short—I learned the counter! But I still think you should just say it. It’ll feel better.”

Hermione stares at her, until Ron says, “Yeah, Hermione. Maybe that’d be a good idea.”

She turns to him, lips wobbling.

“It’ll be fine,” he insists.

“I…” She stops, swallows back all the words she cannot say, and sits there in all her shame.

Ginny’s lips fall. Awkwardly, she pulls away and stands up straight. “Well…if you want to know it, I’ll be around. But, er…think about it, I guess. It’s Valentine’s Day, y’know. What better time for a confession?”

She hurries away from them, then, and for a long moment Ron is quiet.

Then he says, “You can’t talk.”

She screws her eyes shut and gives a miserable shake of the head.

“To me,” he adds, and she nods.

“What about Harry?”

Caught somewhere between a nod and a shake of the head, she finally just grabs the parchment and writes, _Him too_.

“Oh.”

 _I’m not telling him_.

“Why, though?” he asks after a beat. “I mean, really—what’s the harm? He’s not gonna be grossed out or anything.”

 _It’ll be awkward_.

“Doubt it, honestly.”

 _I don’t_.

He snorts. “Clearly.” A pause, and then he takes the parchment and quill from her hands and sets them on the table. With steady, gentle hands, he seeks out one of hers and interlaces their fingers, then takes his other to tilt her chin up, until their eyes meet.

He smiles. “Not so bad, right?”

“I… Um, you—I—”

“I think I’ve figured it out,” he tells her seriously. “So…”

She takes in a deep breath, but doesn’t drop his gaze. “A-all— Okay. Okay.”

He leans closer, perhaps to hear the words she can hardly force out at all, until their foreheads are nearly touching. His breaths bounce against her lips, and she thinks—they have been here before, her and Ron. It wasn’t wrong then, and it doesn’t feel wrong now, but…

She opens her mouth, closes it again, frustrated. She can’t say anything else until she says this first. It’s all very simple, isn’t it?

And he seems amused, more than anything. Like her floundering is funny, and maybe to him it sort of is, but from where _she’s_ sitting…

She just has to say it.

“I—I love you,” she stammers.

It’s immediate, a sort of weight off her chest. She slouches forward with a relieved sigh, her head bumping softly against Ron’s. His hand moves along her jawline to the base of her neck, his thumb ghosting over her cheek, and then he kisses her.

It’s familiar, comfortable and warm and safe, and she melts into it, into _him_. His hand frees itself from hers, winds with his other in her hair, while her own come up to touch his face, cup his cheeks, pull him _closer_ , but—

Just as soon as they register the sound of the opening door and pull apart to look, it is slamming shut again. Not before they see Harry’s retreating figure, though, an Hermione flops down on the arm of the couch with a groan.

“Where’s he going?” Ron asks, bewildered.

“Does it matter?” She forces herself all the way up to standing and offers a hand down to him, which he takes wordlessly.

They don’t exchange any words until they’ve left the common room too, but it is Ron who finally breaks the silence:

“Why’d you break up with me?”

She comes to a halt, staring at him.

He pulls his hand away from hers to put his hands up defensively. “I’m just _asking_.”

“Because—I don’t know.” She sighs, averting her gaze. “Because of Harry, I suppose. It didn’t seem fair when…”

“Oh. Yeah, all right.” A pause, and then: “What d’you think he’s upset about?”

“I don’t know. He’s been trying to get me to get back together with you all year.”

“Really?”

He sounds a little _too_ smug about that, she thinks.

“Yes, and _you’ve_ been trying to set me up with him, so don’t get a big head now,” she snaps. “Come on, maybe he went this way. He must be close.”

He nods quickly, and they don’t talk again except to give directions, until finally they come up to the same classroom they used earlier this week—has it really only been a week? Hermione feels like it’s been far longer even since she was hit with the jinx—where Harry is sitting in the exact same place, even, though this time he has different unopened books in front of him.

He turns when they enter, though, and then turns around just as quickly, muttering what sounds like a curse under his breath.

“Harry?” Ron asks. “What’re you doing here, mate?”

The only response is silence, however.

Ron and Hermione exchange a concerned look, then she pulls away from him sit beside Harry. A little slower, Ron comes to his other side.

She taps his shoulder gently, until he looks up at her with wide, guilty eyes.

“I—er—I—”

He stops, flustered.

“Maybe you should just tell him,” Ron suggests, affecting nonchalance.

“O-okay.” She inhales sharply as Harry blinks up at her, confused, then tells herself—she’s already done it once today.

What’s one more confession, really?

“H-Harry,” she manages. “This—the—jinx, I—I l-lied.”

He just stares at her.

“It’s j-just—you. Just you.” She stops, closes her eyes. Opens them again, and says as firmly as she can, “Because I love _you_.”

And just like that—the rest of the words come so much easier: “I didn’t want to admit it, because, well, you’ve been hit with it too, haven’t you? But it didn’t do anything. I never wanted to make things strange, or…or anything, but we saw you leave the common room just now and…”

He looks away from her, and her heart sinks, but then she sees him pulling his essay closer to him and scribbling something in near the bottom, which he pushes towards her after, not meeting her eyes:

_Will you explain how the spell really works?_

“Oh. Of course.” If she isn’t quite able to keep the puzzlement out of her tone, then he doesn’t remark on it. After a short pause, she says, “It’s designed to render you speechless around only the person you fancy. Or…people, I suppose. It ends once you confess to them, which is why, well…”

He doesn’t move.

Ron says, “You need to say something, mate. I already promised her it wouldn’t make anything awkward.”

Harry glances over at him. Hermione sees him shake his head, and then, suddenly—

It clicks.

“The jinx,” she realize. “Ron, it’s the jinx. It was never lifted! He _can’t_ talk to us!”

He shoots her a weak smile and nods. She returns the expression to the best of her ability, though there is an anxious swarm of butterflies tumbling about in her stomach. Just as she is about to say something else, though, he grabs the parchment again:

_Did you figure out the counterjinx?_

“Ginny knows it.”

_Can you use it?_

Hermione blinks, baffled. “What?”

He sighs, but keeps his eyes firmly down.

“What’s he saying?” Ron demands.

“He wants us to perform the counter.”

“Huh? Well, don’t bother with that! Just confess!”

Harry shakes his head, though.

“Well…maybe we can find Ginny, then, right?”

Harry puts his quill to parchment once more, writing so fast that when he pulls his hand away Hemione almost can’t read what he’s written.

Almost.

_I can’t go back to the common room._

She thinks to tell him that it doesn’t really _matter_ , then pauses. It has been, admittedly, an embarrassing ordeal for her. But for _Harry_ …

“All right,” she agrees. “Ron, will you go find Ginny?”

“Why me?” he asks indignantly, but he gets up anyway.

“Please,” Hermione adds, which has him rolling his eyes, grumbling something about _bloody idiots_. If he’s talking about her and Harry, she politely decides not to call him out on it as he makes the door and heads out.

In his absence, Hermione leans back to study Harry. He _looks_ embarrassed, she thinks, but it seems rather odd. She has already confessed to him, so what’s stopping him now? And, anyway, if he has feelings for her—or Ron, she realizes—where in the world did they _come_ from all of the sudden?

They don’t talk, though, and he doesn’t write anything more. How long they sit there in silence, Hermione couldn’t say, but eventually Ron does return. He waves his wand above his head and declares, “I’ve got it! Ready, mate?”

Harry whirls around to face him, resolute, and Ron makes a hand motion _far_ more intricate than any Hermione had come up with through this whole ridiculous thing.

“ _Amor Vincit Omnia!_ ”

The spell hits Harry, and he recoils with a gasp and a cough, then lets out a heavy exhale that is, Hermione thinks, all relief.

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m sorry you got hit with that, Hermione. It’s horrible.”

“Well, it’s all right now, isn’t it?”

He pauses, then flushes, looking away from her. “Er, yeah. Look—I don’t know… I really didn’t realize, or—or anything, but then I saw you and, well…”

“Realize what?” asks Ron.

“What do you think?” Harry gives an irritated huff. “But it doesn’t _bother_ me, y’know, that wasn’t—I’m not _upset_.”

“Maybe,” Hermione ventures, “you could tell us exactly what you’re thinking?”

“Like it isn’t _obvious_?” He scoffs, leaning back and throwing his gaze to the ceiling. “I wouldn’t’ve even thought about it if I hadn’t seen you kissing, but—I dunno, I _sort_ of thought—when we talked before, I was sort of, er, _jealous_ , I guess, but I wasn’t really…thinking about it like that, I mean—maybe I just thought it was kinda _weird_ , so… But then I, er—just now, you know, I _tried_ to say something, but…”

“Oh.” Hermione swallows, then looks around Harry at Ron, who’s staring at him like he’s never seen him before.

“Who is it, then?” Ron finally asks.

“What?”

“Which one of us?”

“Which _one_ —?” Harry drops his head and turns to look at Ron now. “Are you daft?”

“Am I— What?”

“And what about you?” Harry demands. “I thought you didn’t feel that way about Hermione anymore, you sodding—”

“Well, I thought she fancied you!” Ron retorts. “What was I supposed to do?”

“You thought she—? _What_?”

Before either of them can argue any further, Hermione says, “Well, I fancied you both, so it’s not like either of you was _wrong_.”

“I s’pose I was sort of the same,” Ron mutters. “But Harry…”

“I didn’t know!” he says defensively. “I wouldn’t’ve known if not for this bloody spell! Why’d you lie about it, anyway? Why didn’t you just _say_ something?”

He’s rounded on Hermione now, but she holds his gaze hard and fast.

“I never wanted to make you _uncomfortable_.”

He looks positively furious, except then he is reaching for her and pulling her close to him. Unlike with Ron, there is nothing _gentle_ about this; their lips collide and his hands wrap around her, push her as close as she can possible get. She makes a noise a surprise against him that only seems to spur him on, but then she pulls away, breathing hard, staring at him with wide eyes.

Finally, now, he looks a bit bashful.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Just didn’t think it was fair if Ron got to and I didn’t.”

Ron laughs. “Blimey, Harry, I didn’t—”

But the rest of his sentence is cut off as Harry lunges for him too, pulling in him by the tie and kissing him hard. Hermione watches, caught somewhere between amazement and utter disbelief, until finally they pull apart and Harry says, “Or very fair that Hermione got to kiss you and I didn’t.”

He slumps down with a sigh. “But you don’t need to do anything. Just, er…”

“What do you mean, Harry?”

“Well, you two were together before, weren’t you?” He shrugs. “Doesn’t need to be about me now, does it?”

“Are you kidding?” Ron snorts. “Come off it, mate. You can’t just do that then say you don’t want to _date_.”

“Agreed,” Hermione says quietly. “If we’d known…”

“I didn’t even know,” he reminds them, for the nth time. “It’s sort of, er…”

“Not very traditional,” Ron finishes thoughtfully. “But, y’know, you’re Harry Bloody Potter. Who cares?”

“Polyamory has existed for a long time,” Hermione informs them. “Even aside from polygamy, it’s far more common than anyone gives it credit for, and it can look like all sorts of different—”

“Okay, okay.” Harry puts his hands up in surrender. “If you want that, then…”

“What, you don’t?”

He turns to Ron, affronted. “I never said that!”

“So you _do_ want that?”

“I— _I_ don’t know! I don’t want anything to _change_. I mean—that was why I didn’t notice, wasn’t it? It’s already good. I’m happy with this.”

“Nothing has to change,” Hermione tells him. “I don’t think I’d want that either.”

“According to Ginny, we’re practically dating already anyway,” Ron grumbles. “But the, er…y’know, snogging isn’t so bad, is it?”

“No,” Harry says quietly. “It’s not.”

“Should we go back?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not…not yet. I don’t think—people already know too much about us. Maybe, for a while…”

“This could be our _Amor Secretus_?” Ron guesses wryly.

“Yeah.”

“That isn’t quite right,” Hermione says. “But—yes, we can keep it a secret. It was never their business in the first place, was it?”

“Everything’s everyone’s business when it’s about me, don’t you think?”

“Well, this doesn’t have to be.” Ron shrugs. “Were you really gonna do homework here?”

“Er, maybe. I really did have to talk to McGonagall, y’know.”

“Oh, right.” Hermione laughs. “I was trying to tell you before—he went to see her about careers.”

“I’m thinking of being a Healer, but I dunno. It’s a lot of work.”

“Huh. Coulda picked something with a nicer uniform, don’tcha think?”

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Harry protests, but Hermione can tell from his expression that he absolutely thinks it is that bad. “It’s not about that anyway. Either way, I was thinking about it, but—I stole your textbook again, Hermione. Must’ve been when I was trying those counters on you. We put the paper back in your textbook, so I must’ve grabbed it instead of mine. They were both there, so…”

“Oh.” She reaches forward to flip open the book in question and looks over her page of notes. After a brief inspection, she glances over at Ron. “What was the incantation?”

“ _Amor Vincit Omnia_.”

She thinks about it for a moment, then sighs and drops the paper down again. “ _Love conquers all_. How ridiculous!”

“Is that really what it means?”

“It really is.”

“Well, I think it’s fitting.” Harry looks between them both, lips pulled into a cheeky grin. “Not much I can’t do without you two around, right?”

Ron makes a face and a gagging noise, but Hermione can’t help smiling. She leans against him and tucks the parchment back into the book, then closes it again and pushes the whole thing aside.

“It’s pretty fitting,” she agrees. “Now you just have to conquer this essay, right?”

He groans. “Of course you’d say that.”

“But,” she goes on, “maybe we can leave it for tomorrow. Just this once.”

“It _is_ Valentine’s Day, after all,” Ron says, snickering. “What’s better than a box of chocolates than an extension on your homework?”

Harrys arms wrap around them both, holding them close to him. “This, maybe,” he says, and even though Ron rolls his eyes, he does not pull away.

For her part, Hermione doesn’t mind one bit. She snuggles up against him and sets a hand on his lap, until Ron finds it and holds on to it. Here, at least, they are safe from the throngs of young girls so interested in Harry. Even if it doesn’t last forever, it is nice for right now, their little _Amor Secretus_.

Maybe Valentine’s Day isn’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated! xx
> 
> (p.s. catch me on twitter [@laphicets](https://twitter.com/laphicets) or tumblr [@kohakhearts](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com) for writing updates. i also sometimes take writing requests on both!)


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